


Balancing Act

by OneSpacyLady



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Buddy Cops, Coming Out, Friendship, Gen, Just cops becoming buddies while also being cops, Not Shippy, if you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 15:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17552534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSpacyLady/pseuds/OneSpacyLady
Summary: Chase saw her wipe at her eyes with the heel of her hand.That, he decided, was enough.“Alright,” he said, as he opened the driver’s side door. “What is his name?”Argent stared at him, startled from her misery by the abruptness of the question.“Sir?”“This cad who has left you in such a sorry state.” He shoved the bag into her hands as he got back into his seat. “Surely he has a name, no?”





	Balancing Act

Agent Argent was in love.

 

That was the solution Chase Devineaux had settled on as the most likely-- _only_ likely--explanation for this behavior. She wore the signs of _jeune amour_ plain as day upon her face. He noticed, on occasion, her distant smile when she gazed out the passenger seat window, the way the sound of her phone buzzing had her reaching for her hip with the speed of an officer reaching for his pistol in the thick of a firefight.

 

It was obvious. Any fool could see it, and Chase was no fool.

 

It did not bleed into their work. In fact, the subject never came up. Chase had been preparing a lecture for her in his head. _Keep your mind on the case, Miss Argent_ , he would warn her sternly. _There will be time for silly daydreams when you are off duty_. _Right now you are a cop, only a cop, and nothing else_. It had sounded respectable. Something appropriate and meaningful, for a senior officer to say to a young rookie. Chase had received similar dressings down when he had been about her age. It had made him a better inspector.

 

It was unfortunate, _irritating_ , that she had not given him the opportunity. Argent was still green, but she was diligent and focused. Never tardy to a meeting, ever attentive during briefings, endlessly praised by their superiors.

 

He noticed it most when they traveled. It was there on long car rides, when he would spy her texting someone from the passenger’s seat beside him, a warm fondness in her eyes. It was there when they returned from a longer stay--there were always a few odd souvenirs tucked away in her carry-on. It was _always_ there when they flew. Argent always, always called her parents before a flight, but watching her idly as she stood by the boarding gate window, he always saw her calling someone _else_ as well. Her body language as she spoke to this mystery person certainly indicated a relationship that was _not_ familial.

 

Chase would concede that it had been a while. Not _awhile_ a while, of course, but a good few years. One rarely had time for such things, in their business. Yet he wasn’t so far removed from his early twenties that he did not recognize the shy smile and comfortable posture of a young woman being chatted up by someone she was fond of. At one point, he saw her reach up to twirl a short lock of hair in her fingers, letting out a soft laugh.

 

“Oh, _stop_ ,” he heard her say to the other person on the line, and instinctively he returned his attention to his own phone, instantly uncomfortable. It felt too--personal.

 

She had not given him cause to chastise her yet. But given how hard she appeared to have fallen with this apparent paramour, Chase decided it would only be a matter of time.

 

\--

 

Flowers were delivered to the office on Valentine’s Day. One bright pop of color in their drab, grey corner of headquarters. He did not mention them, and she barely spared them a glance, focused on her paperwork.

 

He was certain she had _something_ planned for that evening. Dinner out at a nice restaurant, perhaps a night at the theatre. Something, he was sure, other than milling around her flat, eating takeout and watching procedural dramas on television.

 

Of course, what she did outside of work hours was of little concern to him. She was not the only one who had plans.

 

The season finale of _Lawful and Orderly_ was airing tonight.

 

In the end though, it would not matter what _either_ of their plans were. Word had come down around half an hour before the end of their shift. La femme rouge, _of course_ , had been spotted at a cafe outside Hôtel Dieu. How typical of her to plan a heist on such a date. It seemed they would have a long night ahead of them, planning stakeouts, upping security at the various local galleries and monuments. The department was in chaos.

 

He had expected _some_ sulking from Argent. Indeed, he had suspected that tonight may be the night for that lecture. _A cop is a cop 365 days a year, Miss Argent_ , he would say. _Crime cares not for your evening plans._

 

But he saw no such thing from her. One brief little sigh when the call came down from the highers up, and a few seconds spent sending a text message. Then she was at his side again, going over maps of the area, putting together lists of possible targets around the city.

 

It was around half past five when he cleared his throat.

 

“I am sure you have plenty of other places you would rather be tonight, Miss Argent.”

 

“What?” Argent looked up, adjusting her glasses. “Oh--no, sir. I did have plans this evening, but I have no problem rescheduling them if I must. This takes priority, don’t you agree?”

 

Chase clicked his tongue in annoyance, shifting his gaze back to the map on the wall.

 

(More annoying still, he had no idea _why_ he was so annoyed.)

 

“Of _course_ this takes priority,” he said. “Let us stop prattling on about useless things and focus on the task at hand.”

 

“... But sir, you were the one who brought it up--”

 

“-- _Miss Argent_.”

 

“Right, sir. Sorry.”  

 

\--

 

Two months later, it was over.

 

It had been early in the morning, and he had driven by her apartment to pick her up. She was late. Fifteen minutes late, no less. Argent was _never_ late to _anything_. He had texted her. Called her. Called her again, twenty-five seconds later, this time leaving some very choice words in her voicemail. And finally, she had emerged from the front door, briefcase under her arm. She jogged towards the car, and pointedly avoided his gaze.

 

“The Carmen Sandiegos of the world will not wait around all day for you to finish _washing your hair_ , Miss Argent--”

 

“--I know, sir.” Her tone was short, clipped, and very small. “I apologize for making you wait.”

 

She ducked quickly passenger’s seat and fastened her seatbelt. As he settled in behind the wheel, he saw the puffiness around her eyes. Her phone buzzed, and she moved for it quick as it had in those early days months ago.

 

Her lips pursed into a tight frown, and she turned her phone on silent before dropping it back in her purse.

 

Chase watched her with a raised eyebrow. And inwardly, he sighed.

 

Well. That explained that.

 

 _Boy troubles_.

 

\--

 

It did not affect her work. During their various meetings and case debriefings throughout the day, she was as obnoxiously sharp and attentive as ever. Perhaps she was even grateful for the distraction. She seemed calm enough, if a bit melancholy. Though inevitably, something would return her attention to her phone, be it a work matter or an idle moment during a break. She would stare at the display for a beat too long, and almost seemed to wilt.

 

There were, he noticed, no messages on her display screen.

 

They carried on like this throughout the day, talking little, and only about their case work. Chase did, on occasion, attempt to bring up something else that might--lift her spirits. A carefully chosen compliment. A mention of a patisserie he knew of in the city that made the best caneles he had ever had outside of Paris, and an offer to treat her. Each time, her response only came as a quiet “Thank you, sir,” with a tired and hollow smile.

 

It was… _frustrating_.

 

\--

 

As the sun set over Poitiers, Chase stepped out of the patisserie, bag in hand, and saw Argent--again--looking at her phone. He watched the same struggle play out that he had seen her endure throughout the day. Her hands moved, barely two seconds into typing out a message, before her shoulders sank. She dropped the phone back to her lap, and slumped back into her seat.

 

Chase saw her wipe at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

 

That, he decided, was enough.

 

“Alright,” he said, as he opened the driver’s side door. “What is his name?”

 

Argent stared at him, startled from her misery by the abruptness of the question.

 

“Sir?”

 

“This cad who has left you in such a sorry state.” He shoved the bag into her hands as he got back into his seat. “Surely he has a name, no?”

 

She did not answer him immediately. Taken aback, he imagined, by his ability to read her. It was almost insulting. The higher-ups may have treated her as some kind of _prodige_ , but surely she had spent enough time working with him by now to know that he was no slack when it came to deductive abilities.

 

Chase sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “Very well. You do not need to answer, Miss Argent, but--”

 

“--Susan.” Her voice was soft, yet the loudest he’d heard it all day. “It, ah… it was Susan.”

 

Susan. Chase frowned thoughtfully. Curious name for a boyfriend. Was that the sort of thing young men were called nowadays? He was not all _that_ much older than Argent, of course, yet he could not imagine the difference of seven or eight years would have caused such a shift in naming conventions--

 

\--oh.

 

Chase blinked heavily.

 

 _Oh_.

 

He glanced over at her in the passenger’s seat. She was, for the first time that day, looking up at him. Curious. Cautious. All at once, Chase realized that she was looking at him for any sign of judgment. And this time he was the one who looked away, fingers drumming the steering wheel for want of something to do with his hands.

 

(Did he really seem to her like the sort of person who might judge her for such a thing, he wondered?)

 

He cleared his throat.

 

“There, ah… how do you say… there are plenty of other fish in the ocean, Miss Argent,” Chase said, as he turned the key in the ignition. “I am sure that you will be fine.”

 

She relaxed a bit in her seat, and she smiled--albeit faintly.

 

“Yes, sir,” she answered. “Thank you.”

 

They fell into awkward silence again, broken up only by the hum of the engine. Chase pulled out onto the street, and started the drive back to her apartment. Next to him, Argent took a peek inside the bag of pastries. She did not take out any to sample, but it was the most interest she had shown in anything other than work or her phone all day.

 

Argent was a good officer. Young and inexperienced, yes, but not without talent. Chase could not deny that. Her grades at the police academy had spoken to it. Not, of course, that those particularly _meant_ anything; Chase’s had been middling outside of his physical examinations and firearms training, but he had still done well on the force. She was prone to overthinking, as she often did with Carmen Sandiego’s motives, but she still had a knack for deductive reasoning.

 

Often an officer needed to make a trade: a fulfilling life as a cop, or a fulfilling life at home. Chase had seen it play out time and time again, in the disillusioned faces of superiors, in his own tired, stubbled face. There was no time to be had for romance. No time to be had for a family. A cop is a cop, only a cop, and nothing else. A cop is a cop 365 days a year.

 

Argent, it felt, had not needed to make that compromise. She was still close to her family. She’d enjoyed a happy relationship with another person. She had been able to balance the intensity of their careers, and made time still to be an ordinary person.

 

He had told himself it wouldn’t last. Something-- _anything_ \--would bring her down from her pedestal in time. Chase Devineux’s hunches never steered him wrong.

 

Unexpectedly, this once, he found he wished they had.

 

Chase shifted, reaching into his coat pocket for his container of mints. Popping the lid open with his thumb, he shook one out and into his mouth. He bit down, splitting it in half, and chewing quietly as the flavor numbed his tongue.

 

“You know,” he said, “I used to be a smoker.”

 

“I thought so, sir.”

 

“ _Mon dieu_ , but it was quite the habit. Back when I was still a patrolman I would buy a pack each morning after my shift. I carried on like that for--”

 

Chase paused, and braked just a bit too fast as they came up on the next red light. He stared at Argent, who jolted forward from the sudden stop, clutching the pastry bag.

 

“Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “What do you mean _you thought so_?”

 

“I-it was just a guess, sir,” she stammered. “It is very common for those who do quit smoking to take up similar habits, like gum chewing or… well…” she glanced pointedly at the pocket where he kept his mints. “And i-it does seem that more people in our profession _do_ smoke than don’t. So I just thought…”

 

Chase rolled his eyes.

 

“Of course you did.”

 

He faced forward again. As he waited for the light to change, he felt his hand instinctively moving to take another mint. He stopped himself short, resting it on the wheel instead.

 

“Anyway,” he continued. “There was a girl I had started seeing, and she _hated_ it when I smoked. I could not catch a break! I did not even have to do it around her. If she saw a pack in my coat pocket, or if she smelled it on my clothes, she would give me the coldest look. She would read off all kinds of statistics to scare me off of it. She and I though, we had gotten close, you see. I even had plans to marry her someday. But she says to me, ‘Not until you quit that disgusting habit!’ So I did it. I quit. I tried a few things--patches, stress balls, knitting--” he saw her shoulders shake in his periphery, and lifted a finger to silence her, “--do not _laugh_.”

 

“Ah.” She brought a hand to her mouth, covering up her amused smile. “I’m sorry, sir.”

 

“This was what I settled on,” he said, taking the mint canister out of his pocket. “The one thing that worked. I have not had another cigarette since.”

 

“I-I see. Congratulations, sir?”

 

He glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “You are not going to ask about the girl?”

 

“Ah… right.” She blinked. “What about--”

 

“--She left me, of course!” he shot back, with a wave of his left hand. “Do you see a ring on this finger, Miss Argent?! She was swept up by some rich barrister, and ran off with him to London.”

 

“Oh. I’m… um. I’m sorry, Inspector.”

 

The light turned green again, and they continued down the road.

 

“There is no need to be sorry. It would not have worked out, after I had been recruited to Interpol. It is the same story you see play out often in our line of work. She wanted a family, and I would have been traveling so much. She always used to say that I was--”

 

“--’married to the job?’”

 

Argent’s gaze lowered to her hands, and her smile wavered. Chase glanced aside at her, before looking back at the road.

 

“... It is not so bad, you know. If things had not gotten so serious between us, I would never have quit smoking. Would I have been as successful at chasing internationally renowned professional thieves across the rooftops, do you think, if I were still smoking a pack of cigarettes a day?”

 

“But sir,” she interjected, “if this is about Carmen Sandiego, didn’t she outrun you--”

 

“-- _the point is_ , Miss Argent,” he said, “there is good to be found in even these unpleasant things. I am sure it will be the same for you, in time.” He hesitated. “And--I am certain that you will find someone who makes you even more irritatingly happy than this... _Susan_ used to.”  

 

Argent did not respond at first. Chase worried, for a moment, that something he’d said had upset her further. He saw her wiping at her eyes again. He went pale. He did _not_ have the energy to console a crying woman in his car tonight.

 

Yet when he glanced over at her, he found her smiling.

 

“... Thank you, sir.”

 

Chase let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

“It is my duty as your senior officer to counsel you when you need it, is it not?” he replied. “You are welcome, Miss Argent.”

 

They continued the rest of the drive back in relative silence. Chase noted, with some relief, that her mind seemed a bit more at ease. She still gazed out the window with that faraway look. There was still a certain sadness in her expression.

 

But she did not once reach for her phone.

 

A half an hour later, he came to a halt outside her apartment. He reached over to fish a canele out from the bag. She could have the rest, he decided. They had been intended to raise her morale, after all.

 

“I will see you bright and early tomorrow then, Miss Argent,” he said. “ _Bright and early_. No more late starts.”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

She unfastened her seatbelt, but paused there in the seat for a moment. She made no immediate move to open the door.

 

“Inspector Devineaux?”

 

He hesitated.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Do you think…” she trailed off a moment. “Is it even… possible, do you think, to be able to balance one’s… _relationships_ , with a successful career on the force?” Argent glanced down at her hands, folded over the bag of pastries. “Of course, I want to be a cop. It is all I have _ever_ wanted.” Her shoulders slumped, and she closed her eyes. “I just… truly wanted _this_ to work as well.”

 

Chase wondered dimly why Argent asked him this, as though she thought _he_ would know.

 

“I think that if any of us have hope of finding this out, it would be you, Miss Argent,” he said. “Sometimes, in the pursuit of a case, an officer must try many avenues of investigation to come to a proper solution. Should you try again and find yourself once more at a dead end…”  

 

He sighed, arms crossing over his chest.

 

“... then I, Chase Devineaux, will be there to assist. It is my duty, after all--as your instructor and as your partner.”

 

Argent let out a breath, and for as tired as she seemed, she did at least appear a bit less burdened.

 

“Thank you, Inspector,” she said, opening the door. “I--do mean that. Thank you.”

 

He was getting soft, he thought idly, watching her as she started towards her front door. She got enough softness and praise from their superiors. Still… it was good, he thought, that he could leave her in somewhat better spirits tonight.

 

Ah!

 

He rolled down the passenger’s side window, and called out after her.

 

“And ‘ _thank you for the caneles_ , Inspector!’”

 

Argent jumped, just a few paces from the door. “Ah--y-yes, of course, sir! Thank you for the caneles!”

 

There. That was better. Chase bid her farewell with a nod and a dismissive wave, and began his own long drive home.

**Author's Note:**

> The inevitable follow-up to this is Chase Devineaux being his partner's very very determined wingman.
> 
> It mostly involves him staring intensely at women he thinks Julia might have a crush on, before shouting "MY PARTNER IS SINGLE" and shoving her in their direction.


End file.
